Colorful fish

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In a pine tree behind me, an eagle waits out the rain, hunched into himself, brooding. Crows squabble, a murder chasing a raven. Seals cruise the lines of fishing nets bobbing in the water, hoping for an easy meal, the tender bellies of salmon.

Early to bed...early to rise...fish all day...make up lies.

When I go fishing I like to know that there's nobody within five miles of me.

Fishing is boring, unless you catch an actual fish, and then it is disgusting.

One guy that I wish was here right now, Ted Williams, helped me so much, our long talks, not about hitting but about fishing, one of Ted's passions, and I wish he was here today to share this with me because I owe so much to Ted Williams.

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[ Colorful fish ].

Through gluttony's vile sin,

When I was a child and came with my elders to Galway for their salmon fishing in the river that rushes past the gaol, I used to look with awe at the window where men were hung, and the dark, closed gate.

If I were not African, I wonder whether it would be clear to me that Africa is a place where the people do not need limp gifts of fish but sturdy fishing rods and fair access to the pond. I wonder whether I would realize that while African nations have a failure of leadership, they also have dynamic people with agency and voices.

I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones. ~William Shakespeare

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